Just Friends

by Monica Murphy

  Amanda is leaning over the counter, closely examining her face in the horribly dim light of the senior hall girls’ bathroom. Big mistake. I always look like hell in this room. I end up with weird shadows on my face and what looks like giant bluish-black bags under my eyes.

  “How long does yours usually last?” she asks, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror.

  “Four or five days.” I stand at the sink next to her and wash my hands, then grab some paper towels. “How about you?”

  “Three days. I used to be super irregular until my mom put me on the pill.” She pulls a Fresh tinted lip balm out of her purse and applies it quickly, rubbing her lips together before shoving the balm into her backpack.

  “You’re on the pill?” I sound shocked. I try to act casual, but it’s no use. I really am shocked.

  “Yeah, though it’s not like I’m having sex on the regular.” The moment the words fall from her lips in walks Em, along with two other girls, one I recognize but whose name I don’t remember and the other…

  Brianne Brown. The girl who is trying her best to sink her claws into Dustin and make him hers. Why are the two of them hanging out?

  “Livvy.” Em’s upper lip curls and her gaze slides to Amanda. “And Livvy’s friend.”

  Amanda sends her a pointed look. “Amanda.”

  “Right. Amanda. AKA clarinet fourth chair?” Em laughs and so do her friends. More like Brianne titters and the sound is so annoying I want to shove her head into the toilet and flush about ten times.

  Dude. Maybe the PMS is still lingering. I feel a little ragey just looking at Brianne.

  “More like second chair, but thanks for noticing. Though I’m not in band any longer, so yeah.” The smile Amanda sends her is saccharine sweet and I cover my mouth with my fingers, not wanting Em to notice me holding back my laughter.

  The one girl locks herself away in a stall while Brianne goes straight to the mirror and starts messing with her hair. She’s always been incredibly vain, so that’s no surprise.

  What is a surprise is Em’s behavior. Since we encountered each other that one Saturday night almost two weeks ago, we haven’t really talked, or even seen each other at school. This past weekend I ended up staying home and helping Mom with yard work. I got a sunburn, blisters on my hand and an extra seventy five dollars in my pocket that I plan on using for new clothes.

  But when we last talked, I figured Em and I were cool. Not like we were on best-friends-till-the-end terms, but we had come to an unspoken truce.

  Or so I thought.

  “You haven’t been hanging with Ryan much anymore, huh?” Em smacks her gum as she smirks at me.

  “Keeping tabs on me?” So annoying that she knows. And now she’s rubbing it in my face.

  “I don’t have to. Ryan’s been spending all his free time with me.” She blows a bubble and pops it so loud, she startles Brianne at the mirror. She sends us a dirty look before she starts reapplying her lip gloss.

  I go rigid with anger. Ryan and I have made idle small talk in class but not every day. We’ve texted a few times, nothing serious. A couple of nights ago he sent me a shadowy dick pick on Snapchat that I couldn’t even really see. I even screenshotted that sucker so I could zoom in, then sent it to Amanda so she could examine it, and she agreed.

  We couldn’t see…dick.

  Ha ha.

  “That’s nice,” I say just as Amanda grabs my arm and propels me out of the bathroom. I can hear Em yelling “Bye!” as we walk out, but Amanda doesn’t give me a chance to respond.

  “Why do you even engage with her, huh?” Amanda asks as she hustles me down the hallway.

  “I seriously don’t know.” Em knows just how to get to me, too. That’s what you get for breaking up with your best friend. They use all of your weaknesses against you.

  “Well, stop. Besides, she’s lying.”

  I come to a halt, making Amanda stop too. The crowd just parts around us as they keep going. “What exactly is she lying about?”

  “Being with Ryan. I know for a fact he’s been living and breathing football, this last week especially.” She starts walking again and I grab hold of her hand one more time, causing her to stop again. “Stop doing that.”

  “Tell me exactly how you know this.”

  There go Amanda’s cheeks again. Turning a pretty shade of pink. That only means one thing.

  Tuttle.

  “I just know, okay? Their practices are intense. They’re not allowed much free time beyond the field. Tomorrow’s game is huge. They want to come at it hard.” Amanda makes a little face. “They’re playing the league champions, so they’re probably going to get their butts kicked.”

  “I had no idea.” We start walking once more, my thoughts filled with Ryan. Why he was so rude to me that night on the field—yeah, I still haven’t let it go—when he was probably frustrated over the team. They’d played like shit during that practice. I’d been a witness.

  “I’m not saying that’s an excuse for the way he’s treating you, but the pressure is seriously on,” Amanda explains, smiling and waving at someone we pass. It feels like she knows everyone, though they’re mostly people she knows from band.

  “So he was distracted.”

  “They’re all really grumpy.”

  “And you know this how? You’ve been hanging with the team?” I shoot her a curious glance because seriously. What is Amanda up to?

  She shrugs, trying for nonchalant, but it’s not working. “I’ve been watching them practice.”

  “Oh really? Why?” Now I’m trying for innocent and from the shrewd look she sends my way, I know she’s not buying it.

  Amanda rolls her eyes. “I don’t think I have to answer that.”

  “Whatever.” I nudge her and she nudges me back, a sly smile on her face as she quickly changes the subject.

  “Do you want to go to the game with me tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I should go so I can take some photos for yearbook.”

  “Perfect! Plus you can be at the game to support Ryan.”

  “I guess.” I shrug. I’m still hurt by how he treated me. And the bet thing. I still don’t know if that was true or not. Yeah, I know Amanda just gave him a great excuse for his bad behavior, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept it.

  “Come on, Liv. Show Ryan you can be a cool girl who doesn’t have any expectations.” She lifts her brows as we stop in front of her classroom. “He’ll be impressed you showed up for him.”

  “You really think so?”

  “He will! Guys like that sort of thing.” She talks like a girl with plenty of knowledge, but most of the time I think she’s just winging it. “Don’t chase after him, don’t ask him what’s wrong. Just show up, cheer on the team, congratulate him if they win afterward or tell him good game if they lose. The important part is you’re there for him.”

  “Okay.” I nod, encouraged by her words. She’s right. I should be there for him. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

  Amanda’s smile is one of those doozies she’s so good at delivering. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up and we can sit together. Do you know this is the first time I get to sit in the stands like a normal person instead of always being with the band in those hideous, sweaty polyester uniforms?”

  “Do you miss band?” I ask her just as the warning bell rings.

  “I definitely don’t miss having to wear polyester,” she calls over her shoulder as she darts into class.

  “Oh God.” I cover my eyes with my hands, peeking through my spread fingers so I can still keep track of the madness unfolding out on the field. “I can’t watch.”

  “Stop.” Amanda pokes her very sharp fingernail in my side and I shift away from her. The girl is forceful when she wants to be. “It’s not that bad.”

  “They look like they’re murdering each other!” I drop my hands, and hold the camera up to my face, trying to search for Ryan. But I can’t find him in the tangle of players. You can hear the boys grunt and groan and every
time it’s our turn to try and score, Tuttle screams all of these numbers and weird terms to the rest of the team.

  I don’t get it. Amanda’s trying her best to explain everything, but I think I’m driving her insane. “They’re fine. They wear protective gear so they won’t get hurt,” she reassures me.

  “Huh.” I’ve read stories where players are paralyzed. Where they suffer one concussion after another and are messed up. This game is freaking dangerous. She can’t convince me otherwise.

  The referee blows his whistle and talks about personal fouls and everyone in the bleachers starts yelling and complaining. Including Amanda. She’s really into this game.

  Like, super into it.

  Not me, though. I don’t watch a lot of football. Dad left and took his Sunday ritual with him. Mom hates all televised sports and I guess her feelings rubbed off on me. I’d rather be hanging out on the upper field where everyone else is gossiping and waiting for this game to finish.

  Instead I’m sitting with Amanda, who’s glued to the hard, metal seat, her expression rapt as she watches our varsity boys scramble like lost puppies out on the field.

  “What happened? Why’d he say personal foul?” I ask, wincing when she immediately launches into a long, detailed explanation that I don’t really care about because I don’t really get it. I have no idea if they’re doing good or bad or worse. Amanda keeps reassuring me they’re holding their own and they look better than they did two weeks ago, but I don’t know.

  The minute it’s halftime, I’m dragging Amanda away from the bleachers so we can go buy a soda and maybe some nachos. The line is long at the snack stand and I whine a little at Amanda about having to wait and how starved I am, but she seems distracted.

  “We’re missing the band performance,” she tells me when I ask her what’s wrong. She waves a hand toward the lower field and I can hear the band start playing.

  “So? Aren’t you glad you’re not in band?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s weird. I’ve been performing out on that field for the past three years and now I’m not. It feels…strange.” She shakes her head, offering me an apologetic smile. “I should go watch.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” I’m being selfish, but I don’t want her to leave me alone.

  “I should.” She nods, her expression firm. “I’m going to.”

  My mouth drops open, but then I snap it shut. Maybe she misses band after all. “You should take photos of the band.”

  Her face brightens. “You really think so? You’d trust me with the camera?”

  “Totally.” I have faith that Amanda won’t break it. “Do you know how to work a Nikon?”

  “My mom has one.” She takes the camera I hand over to her and slips the strap around her neck. “Wow, thanks. This will be fun.”

  I’m glad she’s excited about it. “You want me to get you something at the snack bar?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks, Livvy! I’ll take good pictures, I promise!” She takes off before I can say another word.

  I stand in line alone, hoping I don’t run into anyone I don’t want to talk to. I smile and wave at a girl from my English class before I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and check it for…anything. Maybe a quick text from Ryan? I’d sent him one right before the game, wishing him good luck tonight, but he didn’t respond.

  Wishful thinking. He still hasn’t responded. And there’s nothing really happening on Snapchat either. I briefly scroll through Instagram as the line inches forward, distracted by the two girls behind me who keep droning on and on over how hot all the players are on our football team.

  “I mean, Tuttle is freaking gorg, but he won’t even look our way,” one girl says.

  “He doesn’t do freshmen. He’s turning eighteen soon and he has a strict no freshmen rule,” the other girl says with all the authority of a stupid freshman.

  I almost start laughing but restrain myself.

  “What about the new boy? He’s hot.”

  “Which one?”

  “Ryan Bennett.”

  If my ears could perk up, they so would. When the line shifts forward I take a tiny step, keeping myself close to the gossiping girls.

  “He’s totally hot. Flirts a lot too.”

  I frown. How would she know that?

  “Would that make him a fuckboy? Those types are the worst.” Both girls giggle and I’m tempted to turn around and ask them what they know about fuckboys, but I restrain myself.

  “Hey, if he wanted to be my fuckboy, I’d take him on,” the other one says between giggles. “Is there a dance tonight?”

  “Yeah, but do you really think the football team will come to the dance?”

  Ha, no. They’re notorious for bailing on school activities unless they’re forced to attend them. They’re always at the homecoming dance only because so many of them are nominated and their head coach forces them all to go.

  “Maybe! Wouldn’t it be amazing if they showed? Oh my gosh, maybe we could talk to one of them!”

  They sound so excited, so young and naïve and hopeful, I have to cover my mouth with my hand so I don’t burst out laughing and say something rude like “keep dreaming.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  I turn to find Em standing before me, her brows raised, her ruby red lips formed into a contemplative pout. I smile at her automatically, immediately hating how I fall back into old habits every time she comes around.

  “Nothing.” I tilt my head toward the girls behind me. “What are you up to?”

  “Not much. Wishing I could get out of here, but I’m with Brianne so…” Em makes a face. “She likes these sorts of things.”

  “You hate these sorts of things.”

  Em smiles slowly. “I know. Yet here I am.”

  I say nothing. There are a thousand questions running through my mind, but I don’t know where to start and besides, I don’t think she’d answer seventy-five percent of them. It’s hard to remember I’m mad at her when she’s been such a big part of my life for the last six years.

  “Who did you come to the game with?” Em asks when I don’t say anything.

  “Amanda Winters.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Since when did you start hanging out with Amanda Winters?”

  “Since when did you start hanging with Brianne Brown?” I throw back, my tone snotty.

  “Since we basically broke up.”

  The line shifts forward and I realize I’m the next one up. “Give me a break. We were never together.”

  “You’re my best friend, Liv.” Em steps closer, sinking her teeth into her blood-red bottom lip. “I’ve missed you so much. Brianne isn’t as much fun as you.”

  I’m not going to say Amanda isn’t as much fun as Em because that isn’t necessarily true. Amanda is a different kind of fun. She’s smart and funny and we have a good time together.

  Frowning, I sneak a look at Em to find her already watching me. She looks so different. Her gaze is hazy, like she smoked a little something before coming to the game. Her eyeliner is thick and smudged and that lipstick she’s wearing makes her mouth look huge.

  “Have you seen Dustin?” I dare to ask her.

  “No,” she says flatly.

  Huh. I go up to the tiny window of the snack stand and Em goes with me. I order nachos and a Coke, then look at Em. “Want something?”

  She shakes her head and pulls a cigarette out of the pocket of her tiny denim shorts. The booster parent helping me thrusts her arm out the window, waving her finger at Em. “No smoking on school property!” the woman yells.

  Em laughs. “I’m not smoking it. See? It’s not lit.”

  The woman glares and I glare back, irritated. “My nachos?” I remind her.

  She pushes away from the counter with a withering stare and goes to make my nachos and get my Coke. Em cracks up, the cig still dangling from her mouth as she laughs.

  “Who got her panties all twisted in a bunch?”

  “Who knows
?” This moment right now feels like old times. Em and I, when we’re together, we’re not always the best influence on each other. I know this. So does Em. We don’t outright get into trouble, but we push each other beyond our limits. Meaning usually Em pushes me and I restrain her. I never really noticed our push-and-pull relationship until I stopped hanging around her and started spending time with Amanda.

  It feels good, to have that rebellious little push back again. I’m thinking Em feels the same way.

  Once I pay for my food and drink I go sit at a nearby bench and Em joins me, exchanging her phone for her cigarette. She sends a text to someone before smiling at me. “Give me a nacho.”

  I hand her an extra cheesy one, her favorite. She bites into it, murmuring a little as she chews. “God, it’s so good. Hanging out with Brianne and Naya is exhausting. They’re always on diets. They force me to watch what I eat and they keep food journals. When I told them I don’t count calories they about died.”

  “That sounds awful,” I say before I take a big slurp of Coke.

  “Right?” Em reaches out and snags her own chip coated with processed cheese. “The only reason Brianne wants to hang out with me is because I’m friends with Dustin.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  Em nods, licking a glob of cheese from the corner of her mouth. “Totally. She’s hoping I’ll put in the good word with Dustin.”

  “You two are still hanging out?” Ugh, it hurts just saying it. Dustin tells me he wants to avoid her. Em acts like they’ve never stopped seeing each other. I don’t know who to believe.

  “Sort of? I don’t know. You should’ve seen the disappointment on her face when I told her we haven’t hung out much lately. Now Brianne is stuck with me.” She grins and snags the cup out of my hand. “She’s so hot for him it’s pitiful.”

  I tell myself not to feel jealous, but it’s no use. I’m half tempted to go find Brianne and pull all that perfect blonde hair out of her head. I hate how she chases after him. “Is he hot for her?”

  “He’s not talking to me, so how would I know?” Em shakes her head. “You sound like Brianne. She’s constantly asking me to go and make nice with him, but he’s iced me out.”